


Freezing. Burning.

by StitchingStarsigns



Series: Eryth Lavellan, the hottests of dad elves. [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: 2nd Person, @bean i am so sorry, ALL ABOARD THE ANGST TRAIN, Angst, Au - Multiple inquisitors, Dragon Age Quest: In Your Heart Shall Burn, Inquisitor Shipping, M/M, POV Inquisitor, almost, but not yet, chooo chooooo, donut worry he's not dead, except im not oops
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-11
Updated: 2015-10-11
Packaged: 2018-04-25 20:17:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 656
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4975063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StitchingStarsigns/pseuds/StitchingStarsigns
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Freezing. </p>
<p>Burning.</p>
<p>Searing, hot, pulsing, cold.</p>
<p>That's all you could feel.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Freezing. Burning.

Freezing. 

Burning.

Searing, hot, pulsing, cold.

That's all you could feel. The agonizing burn of the mark, contrasting with the lashing cold winds and snow. There's an echoing sound, and you take a moment to register that it's the sound of your own voice, hissing out in pain as another pulse flares through your hand. It feels like time has slowed, if only to make the flash of deathly vivid pain last longer. As if the world wants you to feel just how the magic that seeps through your skin is killing you. And just like that, it's over, and all is calm.

Finally you open your eyes. The light burns your eyes, but to shield them is unthinkable. You can feel the blood seeping from between your fingers. The swelling pain in your mid section, pulsing in time with the mark. Another pulsing, warning of death. 

"I have to move on. I have to find them. I can't just let myself die like this. Not now." Is that you who's thinking? You can't tell. Everything in your mind was so blurry, so impossible to understand. You try to think again, you can't manage this time. Maybe it's best to just let your body do what it wants to do, no sense in trying to be logical when all that's left now is animalistic needs for survival. You think that's what you decided at least. It's hard to tell.

Suddenly you realize that you're moving or, more accurately, dragging yourself along. How long have you been limping down this path? It's impossible to know, not right now at least. All that matters now is that there's a light. A rift? Did you make that? You can hear the despair now, it's screaming, dying. Just like yourself. You almost feel pity for it. Almost.

A campsite. You can see a campsite. Embers and ash cover the frigid snow. The same snow that's been lashing at your ears and tearing along your cheeks for who knows how long now. It's all cold now, but you can see the trail, the signs of someone's existence, far away in the mountain side. The Inquisition? You pray to the creators it is. And so you trek on, bloody hands gripping at freezing gashes, and numb feet dragging you ever so slowly, stumbling and twisting in agonizing cold.

The pulsing comes again. You tear at your wrist with sharp nails, frozen in place as the fade wrecks your nerves like a wolf does its prey. But you keep going. Another campsite. The embers are warm. Red, hot and comforting. Is this what true hope feels like?

And suddenly there's light. 

Blazing fires, twinkling in the distance. The world's way of mocking you, you decide, as you crumple to the ground. Tears prick at your eyes. Is that Vitis? Or has your mind succumb to the blood loss, allowing you one last comforting thought before you fade away forever. It doesn't matter. You reach out anyways, blurry eyes searching for the clarity of the other dalish.

"Vitis... P... Please..."

Your voice is hoarse, forced out in ragged uneven breaths. But it reaches him. You feel the heat of his hands holding on to yours. Soft skin pulling at tired wrists, forcing them skywards. Are there others here too? Everything is so overwhelmingly warm. A comforting heat, resounding through your frozen core. The burn sweet and welcoming, with such contrast to the painful, emerald blaze etched into your palm.

You're eyes shut once more, the lack of energy finally catching up to you, pulling you into sleep. You struggle, one last minute of consciousness is all you ask, and all you receive. As it all fades to the darkness of sleep, you mutter a last few words, only able to dream that they may not be your last.

"Don't ever go... Where-... Where I can't follow."

And with that, it all fades to black.


End file.
